


Ribbit

by auburn



Series: Bad Wigs [3]
Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Out of Date, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/pseuds/auburn
Summary: Bad Wigs fluff. New Year's Eve. Bad Sydney, bad... No, really, you shouldn't... Screw it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Posting old fic to AO3. 12.31.2003

Sydney looked around. "So this is where you live."  
  
"I don't live in the wine room, Sydney," he said.  
  
"No, I meant - " she waved her hand in a gesture that encompassed the room and everything beyond it, " - this is where you live. Here. The apartment." Way to sound smart, Syd. She shrugged. "I haven't been here before."  
  
"You had only to ask," Sark said.  
  
Sydney huffed. She'd just bet. Sark smiled at her, unrepentant.  
  
Sark was bent over - rather fetchingly - fishing a bottle out of the cabinet under his wine rack, in his hermetically sealed, temperature controlled, under-lock-and-key wine room. Sydney really wished she'd had even a sip of punch before leaving the Credit Dauphine building. Then she could blame the way she was feeling on Rambaldi and not the way those trousers were pulled tight over Sark's rear, as well as having an excuse to do something about it. She leaned against the door jamb instead and curled her hands into fists.  
  
Sark pulled a two-liter plastic Dr. Pepper bottle with the label torn off out of the safe hidden inside the cabinet. The contents were a malevolent green that sloshed _slowly_. Sark crawled backward to keep from rapping his head against the top of the cabinet.  
  
Sydney swallowed hard.  
  
He set the bottle, with its viscous green contents, on top of the cabinet and shuffled around on his knees to look at her.  
  
Dear God, Sark was on his _knees_.  
  
It was a really, really good look for him.  
  
She glanced at the bottle of Formula 47.  
  
"Hey, we only snatched one little vial of that stuff, how do you have bottles of it now?"  
  
Sark stood up in one smooth motion. "There was an actual formula for making it in those papers I got out of Cornelius' safe. Remember?" He gave her a jaundiced look. "You must have missed it when you took off - with my clothes - the next morning."  
  
Sydney gave him a shame-faced look. That really had been petty of her. Petty. But fun.  
  
"Oh. Uhm, sorry?"  
  
Sark eyed her then shrugged. "You're forgiven. I just called down to the front desk and had room service deliver a pair of trousers along with my breakfast. It's the extras that make a good hotel, don't you think?"  
  
She wouldn't know. The CIA was even cheaper than SD-6. She always ended up staying in some rat-infested flophouse. Keeping a 'low profile'. She'd buy Arvin Sloane as a great humanitarian philanthropist before she believed that one.  
  
"So you've been mixing up Formula 47 in your secret laboratory?"  
  
He nodded. "Except I use the kitchen sink."  
  
"Tell me you haven't been dosing random people with you chemistry experiments, Dr. Frankenstein."  
  
"All right. I haven't been dosing _random_ people."  
  
"Oh, shit."  
  
"I gave a bottle to Dixon."  
  
"You gave - "  
  
Sark gave her a funny look.  
  
"To share with his wife, Sydney."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"And I sent a bottle to your room-mate with a note saying it was from your reporter friend. - He isn't still holding a grudge over the whole tooth thing, is he?"  
  
Sydney covered her face and groaned. "Oh, no."  
  
Sark picked up the bottle and sloshed it back and forth. "Losing your nerve?"  
  
"No," Sydney snapped immediately. "You're just getting on my last one."  
  
"We could skip the inebriation and head straight for the celebration," Sark purred. "You haven't seen the bedroom."  
  
"And you're forgetting I'm not drugged this time."  
  
"Hardly," he replied. "I could have let you drink the punch, you know."  
  
Sydney glared at him, setting her hands at her hips. "So why didn't you?"  
  
Sark shrugged and changed the subject. "So, shall we be on our way to spread the holiday cheer and ring in the New Year?"  
  
Sydney looked at the bottle of Formula 47 dubiously.  
  
"Why's it green? It wasn't green before."  
  
"Food coloring."  
  
Sydney stared at him. "You put green food coloring in Rambaldi's aphrodisiac."  
  
"It didn't look evil enough."  
  
"You're insane."  
  
"I couldn't get it glow in the dark, though."  
  
"You're really insane."  
  
"It's in the villain's rule book," Sark said imperturbably.  
  
"It looks like something you'd use to unclog a drain." Sydney considered the bottle one more time then shrugged off her doubts. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. "What the hell. Let's go."  
  
Sark held out is arm and she took it , preparing to stroll out of the apartment together, just like they were on a date.  
  
Which they weren't. She didn't date terrorists.  
  
Even the charming, gorgeous blond ones who were very, very good in bed.  
  
Though she did sleep with them. Him. Sark.  
  
She wondered what it would be like to check out his bedroom when neither of them was drugged silly.  
  
_Bad Sydney._  
  
Just for the purposes of comparison.  
  
In the interests of science.  
  
Oh, hell.  
  
_My New Year's resolution will be to not sleep with the enemy. Again._  
  
"Sydney?" Sark asked, curious over her hesitation.  
  
She smiled at him sultrily.  
  
"We've still got a couple hours till midnight, right?"  
  
"According to my watch."  
  
"Good." She gave tug to his arm. "Let's go see this bedroom of yours. It's got a bed, right?"  
  
"What happens at midnight, Sydney?" Sark asked suspiciously, even as he steered her in the opposite direction, toward his bedroom.  
  
"If this was a fairy tale, I'd kiss you and you'd turn into Prince Charming."  
  
He blinked. Shrugged. Kissed her.  
  
Ohhhh.  
  
Breathe.  
  
Sark smiled at her. "Have I told you about my Romanov blood?"  
  
Sydney thought she might have to re-evaluate this whole New Year's resolution thing. Why make promises you knew you were going to break.  
  


***

 


End file.
